so dear as when we come up out of the desert, as out of the valley of the shadow of death.
To-day this feeling of a new existence was bounding in our veins. Everything conspired to kindle it — the dewy freshness of the morning air; the wide, open, rolling country, like the breezy downs of England. The wild flowers of Palestine were under our feet; the birds were all abroad, enjoying the freshness of the early Spring-time; the Syrian lark rose fluttering from the ground, and sang her sweetest carol to the coming day. This mingling of sights and sounds and sweet fragrances created an intoxication of the senses, in which we rode forward in a kind of ecstacy, when suddenly we heard behind us the tramp of a horseman coming at full speed. What could it be? Another robber-chieftain in swift pursuit? A messenger to forbid our passage through the country? In an instant dashed up beside us a man of fine, even noble aspect, mounted on a beautiful Arabian steed. He sprang from the saddle, and struck his spear into the ground, and the steed stood motionless, while his rider advanced toward us. He was unarmed; he had neither sword nor gun — nothing in his hand more formidable than a chibouque. We turned to receive him. He presented himself with a profound salaam, and no more startling message than an invitation to the Howadjis to do him the honor to accompany him to his tent, and join him in his morning repast. I have no doubt that he had killed a sheep to prepare us a feast. This was a complete surprise. Here indeed was Oriental hospitality. We were strangers in the land, simply passing through it, and this chieftain (for such he appeared to be) went out of his way to show us courtesy. We responded with profuse acknowledgments to the invitation, which in other circumstances we should have been delighted to accept, but explained that this was our last
